


I Never Fail At Failing All Your Tests

by jadziadrgnrdr



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadziadrgnrdr/pseuds/jadziadrgnrdr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post split modified canon fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Fail At Failing All Your Tests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catholicschoolgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/gifts).



> Title by Silverstein. Thanks Ruchi and Jasmine for your eyes and edits. *smooch*
> 
> Gifting this to Jasmine because you're the best and you always write me incredible fic. :*

_“You have my jumper. Can you mail it to my mum? I’m still on tour. Thanks”_

Clearly Harry’s seen the paparazzi pictures of Zayn house hunting. That’s something he’s never going to get used to, being a paparazzi target on par with his former band mate. They’re camped out ‘round the clock now and Zayn gets a rush of anxiety every time he exits his home. Most worrying, is that it looks like wherever they move, the fucks have every intention of following. 

Zayn should leave well enough alone, he’s certain he can get Ann’s exact address from somewhere else, may even have her number saved under “Harrys’ mum Ann” still, but he calls Harry instead. It goes to his voicemail so Zayn hangs up and tries again.

“Yeah,” Harry answers after three rings. There’s a lot of noise around him.

“Yo,” Zayn replies. “Got your text but I don’t know your mum’s address anymore.”

“I’ll hang up and then text you.”

“You’re busy then?” Zayn can hear the sigh in Harry’s voice when he answers.

“We’re always busy. More so now. I’ll text.”

“And the ring?” Harry doesn’t respond right away but when he does it’s lower, softer than the almost snappish tone he’s been using thus far.

“That was a gift. I wouldn’t ask for that back.”

“I never meant for it to go to shit like this,” Zayn says; Harry snorts heavily then excuses himself to someone. Zayn can hear the rustle of traveling, clutched in Harry’s hand. A few seconds later he can hear a door snick shut and the background noise all but disappears.

“Guess you shouldn’t have let lawyers do for you what you should have done in person.”

“I couldn’t…”

“You could. You just didn’t.” Harry is having none of it today. 

“I talked to you. Don’t act like I didn’t reach out,” Zayn says. Harry had called him to check up on him, to ask him when he was coming back. He’d been drinking. Zayn had been smoking. Both of them were probably more raw than they should have been for that conversation. 

“I called you, Zayn. If I hadn’t …. We would have had no idea going into that meeting,” Harry asserts. 

Zayn wonders what they’ve been saying about him, if they curse his name every chance they get or if they do like they’ve taken to doing on stage, never mention him and act like he was never even a part of it all. He hasn’t asked Caroline when they text, and she never offers any information. 

“Louis isn’t taking my calls.” 

“You abandoned him, you were his best friend, and he needed you. What do you expect?”

“You all act like you didn’t know this hasn’t been coming for a while.” Zayn didn’t want to get defensive, promised himself he wouldn’t, but he’s never heard Harry be this cold to him before. Even in the months leading up to the end, when Zayn knows he was pulling away, knows Harry was cross with him for little things like inviting Keiron on tour and promoting London Barbers like Lou hadn’t been styling his hair since he was 17 years old. 

“Oh, because we knew you were a selfish prick we should just make allowances for it?” Harry asks incredulously but he doesn’t give Zayn a moment to respond, steamrolling on. “Just because some people in your life accept anything you do doesn’t mean –“ Zayn can hear the door open again letting in the familiar cacophony of tour life. The sound fills his belly with dread instead of wistfulness, another indicator that he’d made the right choice last week, even if it made him the most hated man on the planet right now. He can hear Harry converse briefly with his assistant, Karen who’s clearly come to collect him, and Zayn knows the conversation is over. “Look I have to go. I have a job I’m committed to. Have a good one, Zayn. I’ll text you my mum’s address.” Harry ends the call as soon as the last word is out of his mouth. True to his word, seventeen minutes later, Zayn gets a text from Harry; his mum’s address in Cheshire.

•••••

Zayn doesn’t send the jumper to Cheshire. He instead shows up on Harry’s London doorstep with it in a Top Man bag a month later when One Direction are on break. It’s so odd to think of 1D as a separate entity that he has no part of even now after some time has passed.

He’d sent emails to each of them. Inside jokes they shared, memories he will cherish, heartfelt words clarifying his position. Words of deep apology. He still lurked a little. It was surreal having all that mourning for him like he was dead and virulent hate that was always boiling under the surface since the beginning but always flared up when he did something people took particular objection to. He had to limit his exposure to it all, but from what he could see, the band was thriving. They had really stepped up their rehearsals, ready to change all the songs over to _Four_ songs and prove to the fans who had seen them already that they can still give a world class show even down a member. Zayn was proud of them.

The paparazzi had followed his car almost the whole way until they suddenly broke off their pursuit. Zayn is reminded that Harry has a restraining order against some of the worst offenders so everyone tends to give his home a wide berth now. Zayn needs to look into that. Paparazzi parked outside his house and following him around has become a new and unwelcome feature of his life after he leaves the band. 

He knows Harry is home because he’d been spotted with his mum and sister getting into a car after having brunch at the Greenberry Cafe. He had posed for a few pictures and then excused himself saying he needed to get his big sis home for her afternoon nap or she’d be cranky. A sarcastic “Ha, ha,” could be heard from Gemma off-screen. The girls giggled and squealed about how cute Harry was with his sister. The video had hit twitter about forty minutes before Zayn typed Harry’s name into the search bar. Zayn knew he needed to go before he lost his nerve and before Harry fucked off to America or something. 

When Gemma answers the door, Zayn first registers how much she looks like Harry. The similarity seems to grow as they age. The next thing he notices is the tight, closed off smile she’s wearing.

“Hi Zayn,” she says flatly.

“Hey Gemma, I came by to drop something off,” Zayn says brandishing the bag to prove that he has a purpose to being here. “Hm,” she says and for a moment Zayn thinks she might just take the bag and close the door in his face.

“Can I come in?” He just breaks down and asks. Gemma reluctantly steps aside. Zayn is used to being awkward but this is excruciating. Luckily, Anne comes into the vestibule and her demeanor helps Zayn regain his footing. 

“Oh, Zayn,” She says sweeping him into a hug. Gemma makes a noise and rolls her eyes retreating back into the house. Anne gives him a sad but sympathetic smile and asks him how he’s been. He tells her he feels good but weird and assures her he’s getting rest. “Well speaking of,” she says leading him into Harry’s living room. He’s lying on the floor about three feet from the large wall mounted 70 inch telly. A cooking show is playing and Zayn can see where Anne and Gemma had been snuggling under a Greenbay Packers throw on the couch. 

Zayn can’t help but look at Harry on the floor with a soft smile. His head is on one of the decorative pillows from the couch and he’s clutching another. It’s a habit that they share; they like to hold onto something soft when they sleep which became a running joke on tour. People started buying them teddy bears, some small and some gargantuan, taking the piss when they’d actually use them. Usually they’d be left behind in hotel rooms or in venues after no more than a few cities. 

Zayn had been nervous the whole way over about the conversation they needed to have. He figures Harry must know they need to talk as well since he’d asked him about a stupid jumper that literally cost him nothing and could be easily replaced. Zayn faintly registers Anne and Gemma cleaning up their area in his periphery. While they do this, Zayn can tell they’re having a conversation that’s mostly made up of whispers, eyebrow movements, and emphatic pointing. He still hasn’t looked away from Harry sleeping on the floor.

“We’re gonna pop out for a bit,” Anne speaks up from behind Zayn. He turns and Anne is regarding him with a hopeful smile while Gemma isn’t looking at him at all. “Gem’s been telling me about this new fancy tea shop so we’re going to go see what all they have.” Zayn goes to her and kisses her on the cheek and they give each other a short squeeze. He offers what he hopes is a humble smile to Gemma who returns it with a snort and an eye roll.

“Come on mom, let’s not keep the tea waiting,” she says. Ann mouths to Zayn that she’s going to talk to her then follows. 

Zayn can hear the automatic door to the garage opening slowly while he decides how he wants to proceed. He takes off his jacket and throws it onto the recliner near him, then he toes off his boots and leaves them where he’s standing. He goes over to where Harry is laying and gets down behind him. The pillow where he’s lain his head is long so there’s room for Zayn to share. Harry’s hair is pulled up into a bun so when Zayn lays down he can press his nose right into the back of Harry’s neck where the short hairs curl up prettily. 

Harry stirs as soon as Zayn places his hand over his belly. First it’s languid and soft until he looks down and sees whose hand it is and stiffens. He doesn’t buck Zayn off of him nor tell Zayn to get away.

“Hey.”

“You were supposed to mail it.” Harry croaks.

“I didn’t want it to get lost. You know how the post can be.” Then he asks, “Do you want me to go, Harry?” Harry dislodges himself from Zayn’s hold and turns over. He looks up at Zayn with a sleep puffy face like he’s trying to figure out a math problem. Zayn is about to back off but Harry tugs lightly at his arm indicating that he doesn’t want that.

 

“I read your email,” he remarks then yawns, stifling it with his hand. He almost reaches toward Zayn’s face then seems to remember himself. They hadn’t been this intimate with each other since months before Zayn left. “Now this is okay?” Harry asks looking down wryly at how their bodies are pressed together.

“You’re too angry at me for it to go anywhere.” Zayn tries for charming; the scowl on Harry's face lets him know he misses the mark. Zayn does back away and this time Harry doesn’t stop him. He stands up, putting out his hand to help Harry up. 

“You eat?” Harry asks around a huge yawn, scratching at his sides then reaching up into a cat-like stretch. Zayn can’t help smile at how Harry is ever the polite host even to people he isn’t particularly keen on seeing.

“Yeah, but I can again.” Zayn shrugs. They head into the kitchen.

Harry doesn’t feel like cooking so they order Chinese takeaway and sit in his smallest reception room sipping tea while they wait. In the past couple of weeks, Zayn and Louis had been texting back and forth, just sharing little inside jokes and chatting. Niall’s been sending Zayn pics of venues, road signs from new countries, and pictures of his meals, but he doesn’t respond when Zayn tries to engage him in conversation. As far as either Harry or Zayn can figure out, Liam has not opened his email. Zayn remarks that he should go visit him next. 

“I think he and Soph are going on holiday. It’s been a rough tour. He deserves to get away,” Harry remarks. “Sometimes when he doesn’t think anyone is looking at him he just looks so sad and so stressed and like if he catches you looking he’ll just put a smile on his face like closing a door. He won’t talk about it He’s gutted..” Harry recounts. They sit in silence, Harry’s assessment of Liam hanging heavily in the air.

“I’ll make it right.” Zayn says. Harry shrugs vaguely. Zayn knows it’s less _’I’ll believe it when I see it,'_ and more _’I really hope you can but I doubt it.’_

“I was in a bad way last month. Like I said to you on the phone that night, I didn’t have it all planned. I thought I was coming back but every time I thought about getting on a plane, my heart would be racing. At first, when I left…”

“In the middle of the night, without telling anyone which was very dangerous and inconsiderate,” Harry interjects. Zayn inclines his head in silent acquiescence. 

“But, like, I realized I’d been there-but-not-there for six months or more. When the doc first suggested I take the pills two years ago, I would only need them every now and again, then it was like every other day I was getting that jumpy feeling. Always eyes on me, always judging me for something or other and, like, in Thailand when I really wasn’t doing anything wrong – ” Harry snorts. “I flirted and danced with some pretty girls, Haz. That’s it. Still everyone assumed I was fucking up again, and there’s birds in magazines selling their little fictions and everyone believes them over me because of course they do. I saw then that I was literally making myself sick for people who are just waiting to throw every bad judgment I’ve ever made back in my face, so I said fuck it.”

“You were hurt and pissed. I get that, but why would you make such a big decision in that state? You could have gotten some rest, come back later in the tour. But no, you have to go to the extreme like always and just walk away. Then Simon is explaining to us that you’re activating the leaving member clause and heading into the studio. You’re fucking chatting up reporters days after you left our tour, mate.”

“Everyone thought I went mental, Harry! I had to reassure people. The label set that up too. And as for the studio, music is still a part of me. It’s my life, just like you. Did you all think I’d stay sequestered in my house forever, never sing another note?”

“No, I expected you not to hide behind your anxiety if what you really wanted was to move on from the band,” Harry states firmly.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Zayn grits, frustrated. “First of all, you know the contract as well as I do. I couldn’t just fuck off even if I wanted to. Syco would have sued me for everything I have. At least this way, I get home and family and some room to breathe, which I need right now. Of everyone, I thought you’d understand with all that stuff you talk about ‘self-care’ and such.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m usually talking about yoga or taking a relaxing bath and lighting some candles. Your version is mixing weed, booze, pretty girls and your anxiety meds then quitting the band,” Harry says. Zayn gapes at him.

“You can be such a monumental areshole, Harry Styles. I swear…” he responds, shaking his head. 

“We all agreed, Zayn,” he says plainly, looking down at his hands. “Even if you couldn’t do it past this year, fuck, past this tour you could have waited for the break, so we weren’t thrown to the wolves. You talk about your anxiety, but how do you think we felt trying to scramble without you?”

“You managed without me pretty well from what I gathered. Cut me out of everything within days,” Zayn grumbles.

“We had to. How shit would it have been to keep your face on everything when you weren’t ever coming back? Shit for the fans, shit for us, just shit,“ Harry says without missing a beat. Then he continues. “I’ve never left, as many times as some acquaintance of mine has turned what I thought was just brunch into a 'Serious Meeting About My Future', but you just let yourself get led away just like that without a second thought. We made a commitment.”

“We made a commitment,” Zayn mocks nastily, mimicking Harry’s throaty drawl. “And I wasn’t led, I finally stopped allowing everyone _but_ me to be the reason I make my decisions.” Zayn scoffs. “You all applauded me when you could see me getting more confident, hit those big notes without fear or whatever, but didn’t realize it was going to lead to me wanting to be heard. These are my choices, _finally_!”

“Well you made a shitty, selfish choice then. Cheers!” 

“That’s easy for you to say! You -- ” 

“No! It hasn’t been easy. I miss my mum too! You’ve had someone waiting for you back home for years and when I can get a bird that isn’t an obvious fame seeker or set up through the publicist’s office, I can’t seem to keep her interested even a minute after I’m out of sight and on tour. I get so lonely I want to fucking die and the person I use to share that with, the person I use to share a _lot_ of things with couldn’t be bothered because he told me he wanted to be good for his fiancée, but not so good he’d give up all the side trim he was getting on the road.”

“You are so unbelievably stupid, Harry. How can you….” Zayn blows out an annoyed breath and runs his fingers through his hair pulling it back for a bit before it flops back down to frame his face again. “Girls on tour are a totally separate category. It wasn’t a betrayal to Pez cause there’s nothing there. Just cock and cunt or arse, whatever. You were a betrayal and if you need me to spell it out further than that, then you’re too bloody dense to even bother with,” Zayn says tiredly. “And I had cut out most of that other stuff whether you want to believe me or not.” 

Harry seems chastened. They share a quiet moment that crackles with energy. 

“You call me selfish or you say I was led but I could have had the loveliest fucking contract, Harry. Almost twice what I was making in the band. Pez told me how much I deserved whatever I could get them to pay. Sha called me a right idiot when I lowballed my asking price. My lawyer joked about not drawing up the paperwork. Because of my shitty selfish choices, you and the boys will still get most of your bonus next year,” Zayn replies. When Harry responds, he isn’t looking at Zayn. He’s got a case of the stares it looks like, eyes glued to a space on the floor beside Zayn’s foot. 

“They made one of the suites on my floor into this like disaster center. It was kinda mad.” Harry pauses to chuckle without any humor. “Everyone was just charging about looking like they might shit themselves at any moment. Paddy and Alberto and the whole team really, were ass-kissing us like we were proper celebrities, would have offered to go to the loo for us if they could I reckon. Louis was chain smoking. Niall biting his nails to the quick. Liam being all stiff upper lip. Your lawyer, Seymour – I remember because I kept singing Feed Me Seymour in my head and then making myself stop – signed off the Skype and we were just sitting there. You and I had talked the night before and you told me, you fucking told me you were going to do it but part of me didn’t believe you. Part of me wished I had gotten through to you, but I hadn’t. Nothing I said even .... It was over and I blamed myself for not talking some sense into you. I just put my head in my arms and bawled. Two days in a row I’m crying like I haven’t done in years, all because of you. It was like when we first got eliminated in Boot Camp times losing at the finale plus Red and Black all over again. And after a bit I felt three hands rubbing my back. Just three. Made it worse.” Harry raises his gaze and pins Zayn with his glare. The dreamy quality he had been using to recount that story disappears leaving only gravel and steel. “If you ever bring up money to me again I will kick your arse out of my house so fast, Zayn.” 

It’s Zayn’s turn to be chastened.

“I hate what’s happened, Harry,” he pleads. “I’m sorry how it all went down, but you all prepared without me. You saw I was unhappy and you just made contingencies. You were changing arrangements and harmonies before we even went out on tour.”

“You made us! You wouldn’t come to rehearsals or you’d just skip a day of promo. We couldn’t rely on you.”

“Exactly! You didn’t need me! You don’t need me! I was just an extra voice who could belt or put a flourish on some riff or whatever. It might have been shit in the moment, but you all are strong as ever,” Zayn concludes.

“You really think, after all we’d accomplished, after all we’d been through that we didn’t need you? That’s bullshit, Zayn, and you know it,” Harry says. 

Something about Harry’s incredulous expression and patronizing tone sets Zayn off, makes him bang the flat of his palm on the table and stand up abruptly.

“ _How?_ How, Harry?! How would I have known that?” Harry only has time to arrange his expression into a question before Zayn continues. “Your words! Always yours, or Liam’s, or anybody’s but mine! I had … I have things to say but they were never good enough and none of you – not even Louis could meet my bloody eyes after those fucking meetings so don’t you sit up here and tell me about commitment when you hear your words screamed back at you from 60 thousand voices every night!” 

He pauses not even a full beat to wipe his mouth. When he resumes his oratory he’s even louder. “We all sacrificed but I was the only one who sacrificed and was shut out at the same time. I knew the meetings were about to start up again and it would all amount to the same: ‘No Zayn, that’s not right for the album.’ ‘Stand over there, Zayn!’ ‘Sing it this way, Zayn!’ ‘But you mustn’t have an opinion that fits outside these given parameters or else, Zayn!’ ‘Be nicer, Zayn.’ ‘Talk more, Zayn.’ ‘Look happier, Zayn.’ ‘Stop fucking up, Zayn’ I got tired! Even saintly, perfect fucking dreamboat pop star- never does anything wrong Harry Styles might be inclined to say fuck it under those circumstances.” He licks the spittle left on his lips, bows his head, closes his eyes and heaves deep breaths into and out of his nose.

•••••

Harry has nothing to say to that. There’s so much bitterness, pain, pettiness, and if he’s honest, truth swirling all in and throughout that tirade he can’t even think to unravel it. He wasn’t stupid or blind; he knew Zayn’s investment in the band had waned considerably after the final album’s litany of rejections, and as much as he and the others tended to blame outside influences, he knows the seeds were planted before Zayn even met Shahid. Harry felt guilty and wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure how with their history, so the space between them, already wider than it had any right to be, got even more impossible to traverse. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or didn’t feel empathy; it was because he didn’t know how to fix it.

Back before Take Me Home, they’d trade journals and read each other’s bits of songs or poems, sharing encouraging secret smiles tangled up in bed sheets between makeouts. Sometimes their songs were about each other, words they couldn’t just say directly. It was their purest form of communication.

When they finally got bold enough to come to the meetings with their offerings, Harry’s got “yes, yes, yes” and Zayn’s got “no, no, no” enough they stopped sharing their early drafts with each other. That was the beginning of the end. Harry can see that now. He’d even suggested that Zayn shop his stuff around, assured him it was good, offered to put him in touch with people he knew. Zayn would always make a face and change the subject. Harry just now realizes how powerful the word “no” can be when it’s repeated enough times. Zayn honestly didn’t believe him when he said that his songs were good, thought it was just the bullshit mates tell each other to feel better, didn’t want to add Harry’s contacts to the pile of rejection.

But as powerful as “no” is, “yes” can be just as powerful, especially when backed by a studio and an artistic sensibility Zayn respects. Shahid is a smug opportunist as far as Harry can see – he’s had no shortage of them scuttling around the outskirts of his own life, but Shahid had _listened_ and Harry feels his soul cave under the shame of his inability to be there for Zayn when Zayn needed more from him.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that comes to Harry’s mind so he goes with it. “We should’ve… I should’ve fought for you harder and listened to you better. “ Zayn sniffs; he’s not crying, but his eyes are still shut tight and he’s shaking. Harry gets up and walks around the table that’s separating them. Zayn accepts the hug when it comes. They stand together for long moments in silence as the wall clock ticks loudly above them. 

 

It feels good to be sharing another meal with Zayn Malik, but it also feels sad because Harry knows this won’t happen again for a very long while. They’re not in each other’s lives the way they had been for the past five years and Harry knows that reaching an understanding nullifies the comfort of anger, which only leaves a profound sorrow that will most likely get bigger before it gets better. 

There may even come a day where Harry doesn’t think of Zayn as anyone but a lad he knew in his youth, and that thought makes his stomach cramp up and roil, so he tries to lighten his own mood with chit chat, filler, something to say because saying anything that matters right now would hurt too much.

“Are there going to be dancing girls in your videos?” Harry asks munching on a garlic shrimp. Zayn burst out laughing.

“I don’t know Haz, I hadn’t given it any thought. Also ‘dancing girls’? You sound like you’re a hundred years old.” Harry guffaws too.

“You gonna have one of them there what’s it? Flappers! Yeah, flappers in your videos.”

“Yes, yes that’s it exactly. I’m going to have flappers and cabaret dancers. It’s going to be fucking sick, you’ll see.” They continue to chuckle and chortle together. 

“You know, I’m going to be the first person in line to get your album when it happens,” Harry says quietly after they’ve tucked back into their food for a bit.

“Thanks, Haz… and it’s not for a while yet. Maybe I can share some of my stuff with you… I know it’s been a while since we…”

“Yes, I’d like that. I’ll listen to whatever you want to share,” Harry responds. Zayn gives him a sweet, genuine smile and ducks his head shyly. “Oh and make sure … I know you’re planning your wedding and you want it to happen soon, but please consider doing it when we’re off tour. I wouldn’t miss that. I do want you to be happy, Zayn. I’ll talk to Liam, at least get him to open the email you sent,” Harry says sincerely. Zayn’s face has been pained so Harry addresses it. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up because I didn’t’ want you to think I came over here to get sympathy but ….” Zayn gusts out a huge breath. “After the Sun ran that story with that girl I barely even talked to… I don’t know I felt like I needed to come clean about the stuff I did do in the past? I told Pez about some of my behavior on this tour and others. I also told her other things that I’ve done…” Harry nearly chokes on his rice.

“You told her about us?” he manages.

“No… not you specifically, but I told her about ‘a bloke on tour.’ I don’t know, it’s like I was so low when I came back home, I thought if I was open, she’d see that I was really dedicating to making our relationship work.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?” Harry says, still dealing with his shock.

“She’s been sleeping in one of the guest rooms for like two weeks. She says she’s leaving but doesn’t want to give the paps fucking living outside our house another story. Doesn’t want any more drama since the label hasn’t yet even committed to a hard date for their release. “ 

“At least one of you is thinking about their career,” Harry snorts.

“Haz, Jesus, who ever said you were the nice one, mate?” Zayn asks flabbergasted; seeming to be caught between incredulity at how insensitive the quip was but also grudging amusement by the burn of it.

“I’m sorry, Zayn. I really am. That was so fucked.” Harry apologizes. Zayn laughs a little sadly and Harry reaches his hand out to him. Zayn takes it and they sit like that, hands lightly clasped on the table for a bit.

“I still think me being home and away from all the pressure is good for me. I miss you all but I was kinda dying out there, Harry. As you so eloquently pointed out, I wasn’t coping really well with any of it. Maybe being alone – when she finally does leave – will be good for me too. I have no idea how to explain it to my family though,” Zayn admits. 

“I’m really sorry, Zayn. I know how much you wanted a life with her. I mean you gave up so much to make it work…”

Zayn shrugs. “I didn’t leave for her. I mean she was a part of it, yeah but like I said, the cons finally outweighed the pros for me.”

“What’s next?” Harry asks.

“Got a holiday planned with my family, that place in the south of France we were talking about a few months ago. Finally gonna get my pop on a plane.” 

“That sounds amazing. Everyone’s gonna love it.” 

“Little Mix has some engagements and recording so it won’t look too weird if she’s not there. Course that’s for her to worry about now.” Zayn says. Harry sees through his flippancy.

“And if she took you back today?” He asks. Zayn is silent for a while.

“I really love her, Haz,” Harry nods, not forgetting that even with all the other stuff, Zayn left initially to keep his relationship with Perrie afloat. It was the answer he was expecting even if it does sting. “She’s not the only one I love, though. You know that,” Zayn concludes. 

Harry does know that, but he also knows that the love Zayn has for her made him give up the band and move heaven and earth. The love Zayn has for him couldn’t even make him stay on this one tour even after he’d resorted to begging.

It’s a bitter way to think and Harry hates it. He was just as guilty of pulling away at the first indication that they were doing more than ‘messing around’. It was just that Zayn solidified it when he truly committed himself to Perrie and proposed to her. Harry’s mindful of how his spirit tends to yearn for what’s been denied him, so he resisted the urge to press his point and brand Zayn with a love neither one of them was really ready to for. 

If all they have is this meal, and this moment of understanding, then that’s what they have and Harry is going to cherish that.

•••••

It happens on an uneventful day. Harry is online posting pictures from South Africa on Instagram. He checks twitter and it’s the top tweet on his list, Zayn has posted a Sound Cloud link with an x and a smiley face. Harry’s stomach starts churning. Hitting ‘play’ doesn’t settle him because the song that comes out transports him to another time and place. After the Brits in a hotel suite, expensive suits askew, Zayn singing to him between champagne flavored kisses. Things were so _good_ with them and the band.

He heard it again, a year later, when a version of the same song, a version much closer to what is coming through his speakers right now, was offered up for consideration. It made the second to last album cut before being dropped with a mealy mouthed explanation as to why. 

Yes, it was time for Zayn to make his exit when he did. The world needs to hear him and see him maybe for the first time as he actually is. Harry understands that. He also understands the pain of each chord because he’s felt it. Every emotion and thought he’s shared with Zayn. He’s never heard another person sing a song that makes _him_ feel fully exposed. 

Harry retweets it and adds, _“Sick tune, mate. - H”_ They’re communicating again. 

It’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this was indulgent and I swear more than half of this was done before all the shit started going down. I just added details. Even the “messing around” terminology was in the fic. Then reality decided to drop that demo on my lap. I admit that I probably wrote (actually write in general) Harry with a bit more edge than he presents as his public face but A) he was kind of my surrogate in this piece and B) Harry has been called cheeky and sarcastic by the people who best know him so I generally include that in my characterization. Hope it’s not too jarring.


End file.
